OH, MALLY 'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET. This stands the last of the communications to the "Museum." It is said to have been produced on seeing a young countrywoman with her shoes and stockings packed carefully up, and her petticoats kilted, which showed "Her straight bare legs, that whiter were than snaw.” Он, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, Mally 's modest and discreet, Mally's every way complete. For that fair maiden's tender feet. It were mair meet that those fine feet Her yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; And her two eyes, like stars in skies, Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. Oh, Mally's meek, Mally 's sweet, Mally 's modest and discreet, Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, Mally 's every way complete. ADDITIONAL MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. THE FAREWELL. These beautiful and affecting stanzas were composed under great distress of mind, when his prospects in life were so gloomy, that his only hope for success seemed to be directed to obtaining a situation in the West Indies. FAREWELL, old Scotia's bleak domains, Where rich ananas blow! A faithful brother I have left, My Smith, my bosom frien'; Oh then befriend my Jean! What bursting anguish tears my heart! It rustles, and whistles, I'll never see thee more! WILLIE CHALMERS.1 Wi' braw new branks in mickle pride, And up Parnassus pechin; Whiles owre a bush wi' downward crush, I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name I am nae stranger to your fame, And faith ye'll no be lost a whit, Auld Truth hersel' might swear ye 're fair, I doubt na fortune may you shore 1 Mr. Lockhart has given the following account of this singular piece-ne copied it from a small collection of MSS. sent by Burns to Lady Harriet Don, accompanied with the following explanation:-" W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, a particular friend of mine, asked me to write a poetical epistle to a young lady, his Dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely acquainted with her, and wrote as above." Some gapin', glowrin' countra laird, May claw his lug, and straik his beard, My bonnie maid, before ye wed Seek Heaven for help, and barefit skelp Forgive the Bard! my fond regard EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN.1 HAIL, thairm-inspirin', rattlin' Willie! But take it like the unback'd filly, When idly goavan whyles we saunter Arrests us, then the scathe an' banter We're forced to thole. Hale be your heart! Hale be your fiddle! Until you on a crummock driddle, A gray-hair'd carl. This gentleman lived at Parkhouse, near Ayr, and was not only a firstrate performer on the violin, but a pleasant man, and not a little of a wit The original of this piece is now in the possession of David Auld, Esq., Ayr Come wealth, come poortith, late or soon, A fifth or mair, The melancholious, lazie croon O' cankrie care. May still your life from day to day Harmonious flow A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey- A blessing on the cheery gang An' never think o' right an' wrang By square an' rule, But as the clegs o' feeling stang Are wise or fool. My hand-waled curse keep hard in chase Their tuneless hearts! May fireside discords jar a base To a' their parts! But come, your hand, my careless brither, About the matter We cheek for chow shall jog thegither, We've faults and failings-granted clearly, But still, but still, I like them dearly- Ochon for poor Castalian drinkers, |